Too Old For MySpace

Octobering

2009-10-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

I love this time of year. For one thing, living in Arizona, it means that we get to creep out of our homes and into the outside world again--I mean, to places that don't involve dousing ourselves in water to avoid spontaneous combustion. It is gorgeous outside and I can let the boys run free. I also get to drag out the decorations; first Halloween, then general Harvest, finally Christmas. My house likes this time of year too. I can tell.

I haven't written much about life in a generalized way here for a while--saving this instead for late-night confessions and inner-most thoughts. Drama that doesn't really define me, but needs to get out every now and then. Things have been really good the past year or so for me, and also really not so good. Funny how life is like that. Overall, my life is great. I am content; I am lucky. We have jobs and a house and two beautiful, generally healthy boys. We enjoy simple things; DVR'ed reality shows, an occasional night out, reading lots of good books.

But things have been hard too: realizing that Mason's issues are not just your average "toddler" tantrums, being completely let down by my family in more ways than one, struggling personally with faith and identity issues.

On the Mason front, I'm feeling better because we are being proactive. We're looking for the right school for him, meeting with doctors and getting him set up to succeed. And while the day to day with him can be emotionally exhausting (every little thing with him is a fight--he is constantly angry, constantly upset), he is super-smart and right on track for kindergarten as far as scholastic issues go. Now it is a matter of helping him with the behavioral and emotional issues. I just want him to be happy. I want him to love life and love himself.

The family issues, well, let's just say that I've been able to lower my standards of familial support and things are much better for me. I've realized that for many years now, I've been seeing my family (divorced parents, siblings, etc.) as how I wish they were instead of how they really are. My expectations were too high and as painful as it has been to realize how much they can suck, it has only served to make me even more grounded and grateful for my little family of four. Let's keep us strong and not worry about the rest.

The last issue, well, it's been tough. Part of the problem is self-neglect as far as spiritual/emotional matters go. Part of the matter is that I've learned through experience that things aren't as simple and clear-cut as they used to be. I feel a little lost, but realize that a lot of it is because I have been in a state of disconnect for a lot of years now. I go to bed at night, almost every night, with a feeling that I have wasted the day. Like I just didn't do what I should have with the precious gift of time that I was given. I lay my head on the pillow with a vague hope and determination to do better the next day, but still it is the same, night after night. I'm missing something here and part of me is scared to even try and figure it out for fear that what I find will lead me down a difficult road--you see, I may hate the feeling that I'm treading water, but at least I'm comfortable with it.

Still, you can only tread water for so long before you start to sink.

Just to Set the Record Straight...

2009-07-08T21:40:00.000-07:00

So after that last post, it seems that everyone has the idea that I am in a loveless marriage and totally unhappy with my life. Where in the world could they have gotten that idea? LOL

Actually, I am very, very happy in my marriage. Which is sometimes surprising to even me. See J and I are extremely different in our personalities. Talk about opposites attract—that is us. In fact, we are so different that I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to see him again after our first date. Not that he wasn’t a nice guy…that was the problem actually. He was a Really. Nice. Guy. And I didn’t do Nice Guys. (snicker) I did complex. I did guys that needed fixing. I did guys that were as messed up as I was (am?). But then I realized after a few more dates that nice is…well…NICE. He was so sweet and so sincere (and yes, a little bit of a geek, LOL). And I knew that when I thought of the kind of guy that I wanted to be with 5, 10, even 50 years down the road, he was it. He was a Keeper.

I was a little scared about the level of commitment we were making, though. He was so NOT the kind of guy I pictured myself with. I mean, would we get bored of each other? Would his lack of interest in some of the things I am most passionate about (and vice-versa) drive us apart after time? Did we have enough in common to make it last? These were things I worried about. But surprisingly (and happily) none of that seems to have mattered. Sure, he drives me nuts sometimes (and really embarrasses me with his nerdy white-boy dance moves at weddings, LOL), and I may have to turn to my friends to talk politics (which he couldn’t care less about) and he to talk about fantasy sports anything (which I couldn’t care less about)—but when the chips are down and I need support on the BIG things, I always know he will have my back. Six years later and it feels like I could go 50 more without batting an eyelash. My cynical self is truly in awe.

And like I said in my last post, it may not be the fiery drama-filled relationship that I was used to. And I may miss that crazy excitement just a little bit every now and then. But then I remember at what price that kind of relationship comes with—insecurities, desperation, self-doubt; and I realize that I am not missing a single thing.

Imaginary Friend

2009-04-22T21:56:00.000-07:00

It's late, and I should be sleeping. But instead I sit here, listening to music that I really shouldn't because all it does is make me think about you.

But not you. Not really.

I've googled you--you don't look anything at all like you used to. You are a stranger. You are married with a kid--hell, I have two of my own--and you've honestly have added a few unflattering pounds (well, haven't we all...except for your perfect wife--got what you wanted, didn't you?). You finally made it through law school, I see (I am a bit smug that it took you so long) and are living on the East Coast of all places. Who are you? I have no idea.

And yet, here I sit, wondering how you are; wanting to talk to you again.

But not you. Not really...?

Like the Girls said, I'm in love with your ghost. An imaginary friend. A person that no longer exists. And can you really call it love anymore? Ugh. I hate how pathetic that seems. But what can I do? I really did love you. And when you really love someone, do you ever really stop? Even when they are gone? I still love my grandmother, and she's been dead for years. But thinking about the times I had with my grandma doesn't make me feel like I need to throw up...so that's different.

And the weirdest thing is that I really do love my husband. He truly is amazing. So much better for me than you ever would have been. I know logically that being married to you would have been a disaster. Being with him is like a constant, steady stream--being with you was like a crazy, rocky torrent.

Steady is better...but...not quite as...intense...

No, I know that I did the right thing when I finally found the strength to walk away for good. Hurt like hell, though. Honestly, I thought I was going to die. But I didn't. And I'm better for it, believe it or not.

So why the hell am I sitting here listening to my Dashboard station on Pandora and thinking about you? I do miss you--you were my best friend--but there is no place for you in my life now... What is it I want from you? Do I wish I was with you instead? No--never. You made me feel like shit most of the time. Definitely don't need that. Do I want closure? Closure--what a joke. No such thing.

I don't know...I guess...I guess that I just wish that if for one small moment--when you're alone at night and the wife and kids are asleep, you might wonder how I am. And think that you were a jackass to treat me that way. And in some small recess of your heart recognize the love that we had--that I had for you--and be touched by it. Because even if you were never worthy of it, it was pretty damn amazing, that love. And it seems like such a shame to let it go to waste.

Hello Again. Hello.

2008-09-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

Hi. I know it's been a while. I wasn't meaning to write here again, really. But I guess I just needed someplace to go. I have a few other blogs out there using my real name (yep, Anelie isn't it--I know that's not cool nowadays, but I like the freedom to be honest without worrying about real-life repercussions), but I miss this place. I miss my old sites, too. This one doesn't quite feel like home to me. It looks like my old archives (going back to 2002) were taken down. I'm sad about that, but I had chances to move them elsewhere. I guess I just figured that no one would miss them. But, surprise, I do.

My life is good. It is simple and yet complicated at the same time. It is centered around motherhood and being a mother. That's one of the reasons that I don't write anymore; motherhood occupies my life to the exclusion of other things that I used to love. I don't begrudge being a mother for that, but I do hope that one day I will be able to resurrect those old passions that are now lying dormant.

Mason is now 3-and-a-half. I seriously can not believe that. He is so much a little boy. He is, and has been, a challenge for me. A beautiful, wonderful entanglement of love and worry. He is so smart, funny and articulate, but it looks as though the issues that I was hoping were just toddler issues are going beyond that. He is ruled by his emotions, but at times they seem to be too much for his little heart and body to handle. We don't have an official "diagnosis" (how I hate that term), but between his father and me, his pediatrician, and his pre-school director and teacher (he goes part-time a few times a week), it has become apparent that his emotional responses to certain normal situations go beyond what the average 3.5 year old should have. The realization that we will probably have to seek outside help for him has been pretty devastating to me. I feel a lot of guilt (is this from watching too much TV? or diet? etc.), but mostly I just hurt because he is "that kid" in his class and I don't want him to be "that kid." I don't want him to ever feel "less than" in ANY way. And when he is in the midst of these occasional emotional meltdowns, to the point that he is injuring himself out of anger and frustration, I want to reach inside him and take away any insecurity and fears and make him whole...and I can't.

I look back over the past 3-and-a-half years and can see areas where I could have been better and honestly feel like I've failed him. I've cried a lot and lost a lot of sleep. It's been beyond heartbreaking.

But then I have to pull myself together and remind myself that I am prone to the melodramatics, and that things aren't THAT bad. He is loving and sweet and 80% of the time acts like a typical overly-energetic 3-year-old. And I can't do anything to change the past, or any mistakes that I may have made, and the important thing is to get educated, get proactive and go on from here.

Ah, but if only love were enough to make our children perfect...

***

Anyway, on another note, the internet has become way too crowded for me, too. I miss feeling a part of something special. I miss feeling like what I was writing might possibly make a difference. I kind of have the feeling like, what's the point? But what IS the point? What was MY point? Was it to see how many people I could get to read my site? Was it to vent my inner issues in a kind of cyber-therapy?

Mostly it was because I was inspired by some really amazing writers and wanted to follow in the same circle as them. But slowly, little by little, those amazing writers have either dropped out, or become these super-monoliths of the internet, where the only option is to become one unread comment in a sea of hundreds.

I miss the diarist awards, JournalCon (from what I heard, BlogHer is an estrogen-fueled nightmare--high school popularity contest times 100), and the crazy phenomenon of actually making friends with people that you read about online.

I don't know...a big part of it is that I miss the "me" that I was back in the day when I felt inspired to actually write online.

I can't blame that one on the evolution of the internet.

Keyed Up

2008-01-03T22:47:00.000-08:00

It is so, so stupid that I am not asleep right now. I will be regretting it tomorrow. But for some reason, I feel like I couldn't possibly sleep. I'm all keyed up; antsy about everything and nothing. I feel a little giddy (see last post). I don't know--there is something about the new year and new possibilities that has buoyed me up the past few weeks.

I've had some incredibly good news from a few of my best friends as of late. They are all expecting and that makes me happy. I have such beautiful, crazy-gorgeous children and I want so much for the whole world to have the opportunity to fall in love the way that I have with my kids.

I have been overwhelmingly satisfied with my life recently. It is such a good feeling, to be satisfied; not to feel that aching need that most of us feel--even in the best of times. I can't even tell you how many years of my life I've spent trying to define that ache and to fill it, or to hopefully anticipate the filling of it. But I've been actively trying the past year or so is to stop and just be satisfied with what I've got. And really, I have so much. It bewilders and even scares me a little with how good I've got it. Afraid that this much goodness can't last forever.

There are, of course, a long list of "wants" that I could spout off if you asked me, but I don't dwell on them and have realized that life will be just fine if I never get a single one of them. I hope that I can hold on to that.

In spite of all this satisfaction, I need to work on showing it more. I let the little things get to me too much and allow my stress levels to affect those around me. Mostly my poor husband. I need to be kinder to him. He deserves it. I can be such the quintessential nagging wife.

So, yeah, the New Year has been good so far. The goodwill of Christmas has spilled over, even in the face of an election year. I want to bottle it up and save it for the slump I'm sure I'll feel mid-March, or the end-of-summer blues in September. I want to fill the year with good books and inspirational movies so I can keep this deep-thinky giddy happiness going.

But right now I just hope it settles down a little bit so I can get some sleep.

2008. Bring it.

2008-01-01T14:16:00.001-08:00

Hi everyone! I am unusually giddy today. Life is wonderful! Yay! (Don't worry, just give me a minute and I'm sure I'll be back to my normal, cynical self.)

So it's been a crazy, hectic month or so. We did go to Idaho for Thanksgiving. It was good for J to see his family, but it was really hard on Mason. He is not good with unfamiliar surroundings and tends to act out ten times worse than normal--like to the point where people start asking us if he needs to see someone or something. Not a good feeling for a parent. Fortunately, ever since we got home, he has been doing SO MUCH better. I think it's a combination of things: we are really working hard on being consistent with our discipline with him, and he is also getting old enough where he understands the concept of consequences. Next up, potty-training! Rock on!

I did end up being crazy busy with my business over the holidays. I'm designing photo cards (birth announcements, holidays, invitations, etc.) and was NOT prepared for the holiday card rush. Whew! I was up until one or two in the morning most nights for 2 weeks straight. But I made some money and that's always nice. Next year I will be much better prepared. Like with a part-time nanny, a maid, and a lot of Valium. Woo-hoo!

As of a few weeks ago, Quinn officially stopped breastfeeding. I'm sad because I love that bond and I know how good it is for him health-wise, but he was not having it anymore unless he was very, very tired and nothing else was going on in the room. The good thing about it, though, is that now I can focus on getting back into shape without worrying about keeping my supply up. I have to lose 25 pounds before our cruise in May. No more excuses. Sweet! (<--running out of exclamations of excitement)

I've also gotten sucked into the world of digital scrapbooking. I gave up on the paper stuff. Don't have the patience. This site got a lot of my money as of late. But I also use the stuff for my cards, so technically, it's a tax write-off. Gooo, tax returns!!

That's about it. I hope I can keep up this enthusiasm. I know that it will probably peter-out in a few weeks. But for now, it's a new year and I'm all about the resolutions. Happy 2008!

Missing You

2007-11-07T15:04:00.000-08:00

Hello, internet. I miss you.

My life is chaos personified lately. I am ridiculously busy with my online business, but ironically, not making much money. Le sigh.

Mason. Ah, Mason. My son (to quote Sheryl Crow), is the difficult kind. He is gorgeous, brilliant, a big ball of life and energy. And also the first to throw a tantrum and scream at the top of his lungs because I kissed him "wrong." Most people in my life insinuate that he is the way he is because I am a bad parent. That kills me for several reasons, but mostly because I am a little terrified that they are right. I don't know. I'm making this up as I go along.

We've made some improvements. I can't continue to raise him the same way I live my life. I am not disciplined. I am not organized. My son needs discipline and organization. It's a constant battle, not only with him, but with myself as well. It is very, very hard.

Quinn is 6 months now, and an absolute sweetheart. Of course, it is hard to find a baby that is NOT an absolute sweetheart at that age. He is fascinated by his older brother, which is both cute and scary since I want him to love his brother, but do not need another Mason in the works. Despite being in the 10th percentile for his size, he is very chubby and kissable at this age. I nibble on his chubbiness as much as I can, knowing it will not last much longer.

We're off to Idaho for Thanksgiving again this year. Since it is currently 89 degrees outside (thanks, global warming!) I have to buy the entire family a set of winter clothes for just this one trip every year. It will be nice to actually experience a season other than "hot" for a change, though.

Overall, when I assess my life I am very happy. This is surprising to me. I am such the perpetual cynic that happiness in the midst of apparent (to some) mediocrity goes against my expectations. But I am. It's not an overwhelmingly blissful or a giddy happiness, but a feeling of gratitude and satisfaction. I think I am getting better at not letting the little things defeat me. I think I am getting better at realizing how blessed I truly am.

Time Enough and More

2007-09-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

I have absolutely no business typing this right now. My life has gotten much more complicated the past few months and any spare second that I have to get on the computer has been spent working on my online business venture, which, as of this moment, has yet to venture very far as a result. But I miss you, internet. And my husband is getting sick of listening to me vent to him.

...Mason has stopped taking naps.

I don't know if anyone reading this can fully understand the horror embedded in that statement. Mothers of intensely hyper toddlers will gasp when they read it, perhaps. But it has made me very, very sad. There are only a very few hours (minutes?) in the day that even slightly resemble something that can be called "mine"; now those fleeting moments have become practically non-existent.

I am hoping, nay, literally praying, that this is just a stage.

He is, after all, not even 2 1/2 yet, and he does appear to get tired during the day. I'm still putting him up in his room for an hour (or so, depending on how soon he starts screaming to get out) each day around nap time with the hopes that someday he'll collapse into a deep sleep on his own. But I've stopped expecting it. It's easier to tell myself that he isn't going to sleep than get my hopes dashed when he doesn't.

Motherhood is hard, you guys. It takes every single shred of what decent person I've got sometimes. Patience? Ha. Did you know that there is an actual physical sensation of digging deep within me to find some when I feel I can't possibly find any more? A feeling of super-human restraint. But it's been there, thank the Lord, when I need it.

It's not all like that. Only a few moments here and there. And then I look down at my child--screaming in the throes of some ridiculous tantrum in the middle of the "fancy" mall right outside Nordstoms while the tanned, thin, high-heeled and rich look on in disdain--and can see him for what he is: a frustrated, intelligent, innocent little human being who wants to understand why he can't go in the playplace with his lollipop but can't. Then I can actually feel some empathy for the kid instead.

I wouldn't want my lollipop taken away either.

I Am a Geek

2007-08-06T07:46:00.000-07:00

We actually broke down and got a babysitter this past weekend (Sidenote: do you realize how much it costs to get a 15-year-old babysitter these days? Almost as much as dinner and the movie itself! When I was babysitting it was like five bucks an hour, tops!) Anyway, we went and saw the movie Transformers. It. Was. SO. Awesome!

Then again, I am of the era where I actually remember the cartoon and the action figures. I was totally geeking out the entire movie--but especially when they introduced the names of the robots and I could remember every one. The first time that Optimus Prime transformed from truck to robot, I think I actually said out loud, "Oh, that is so cool." It's official; I am a geek.

The movie was surprisingly funny. And Shia LeBouf (despite the unfortunate name thing) was really good. I guess he's the next big thing out there in Hollywood. I did J a favor and pre-empted him by stating "Okay, she's hot" the first time Megan Fox showed up on the screen. First of all, it's totally true, and second, he's allowed to agree with me as long as I say it first. Of course, J being the sweet thing that he is said, "She's okay. But she's not as pretty as you." To which I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a headache. Nice try, babe. But save comments like that to situations where there is a remote possibility that they are true. "A" for effort, though!

In other geek-related news: I finished Harry Potter. I have to say, she did a good job finishing up the series. As a lot of people were saying, though, I wanted a follow-up chapter at the end before jumping in to all the million of kids they were having in the epilogue. (Was I the only one who couldn't keep track?) I needed to be a bit more emotionally invested in Harry and Ginny. But overall, it was really good. Unfortunately, there went my beach book for the trip we're taking this week. Any suggestions for a replacement?

Everything's Coming Up Roses

2007-07-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

Something funny has been happening lately. I’ve actually been finding myself feeling…happy. I’m not stressed out, I’m totally enjoying time with my kids, and I’m feeling better than I have for a long time.

I imagine there are various reasons for these feelings, first and foremost being that my husband’s brother (after a long weekend stay by his sister and my mother-in-law who had come to retrieve said brother) has returned home and my house is finally mine again. Ah. That is a huge relief. Like I have said, I love my husband’s family, but a combination of them have been staying with us for more than half of my new son’s lifetime. That, my friends, is a long time.

The second reason that I’ve been feeling so optimistic lately is I’ve decided to start a small online business from my home. I’m excited because a) I get to do something I really have fun doing (it involves design), and b) I’m hoping that there are some hopefully large-ish sums of money to be made doing it. I don’t know; I don’t have any huge expectations, so there’s not much pressure. Like my previous jobs, I’m not going to go into too much detail here just to be on the safe side, but I’m excited!

In a few weeks, we’re all going to take a trip down to Mexico with my mom and her husband. While traveling with children is, like, 10 times more work than just staying home, I think it will be fun. I know that Mason with love it. That kid is such a fish. He’s taking swim lessons this summer and we can’t drag him out of the pool. It’s kind of scary, though. He has no fear. We have to watch him every second. But that’s why J will be on permanent Mason assignment on the trip, and I’ll watch Quinn. Don’t ask me what we’ll do if we ever have three.

I still need to work on getting this baby weight off. It doesn’t help when you see stories like these. Oh well, whatcha gonna do. It’s not like I looked like her before I got pregnant.

Besides, these kids were worth it.

Keep Running, Fat Girl

2007-07-14T22:09:00.000-07:00

So, I’m the fat girl at the gym.

It’s okay. I’m coming to terms with that. The weird thing is that I’m not really that fat. But maybe it’s just a gym thing--heck, maybe it’s just a West Coast gym thing--that any woman bigger than a size 12 is fat at the gym.

Being fat at the gym is a funny thing. I mean, you’re at the gym, that’s a good thing, right? And yet, not so much. For some reason it seems that the gym is where you go AFTER you’ve lost all the weight. You lose the weight somewhere else, then, and only then, can you go to the gym to…lose more weight? No, the gym is mostly for people who have never really been fat in the first place. When you are fat at the gym, people seem to view it the same as giving a drowning man a floating popsicle stick: “Look, it’s never going to happen, so why don’t you just go home and have a Pop-Tart. You’ll never make a dent in all that blubber. And anyways, if you were really serious about staying in shape, wouldn’t you have been at the gym, like, 6 sizes ago? Puh-leeze, fat girl.”

But that’s okay. I can handle that.

I used to be a gym rat. I wore the skimpy spandex, I put make-up on to go work out. I was constantly on the lookout to see who was watching and who I could watch in turn. (Ugh.) And I have to say, it’s very liberating to be on the other side of things. Of course, being married is a HUGE part of that. The gym is no longer an extension of the meat-market for me (hallelujah). It serves a better purpose. I have no one to impress but myself.

And yet…

While I’m pretty comfortable upstairs in the cardio section, I have to say that I really do hate venturing into that sector of self-import: the free-weight area. First of all, why is this place completely surrounded by mirrors? Is it really to make sure you’re using the proper “technique”? No. It is surrounded by mirrors so that the ego that exists in us all can have the ultimate excuse to stare at itself in the mirror and tell itself how hot we are. Or how not hot we are.

Having recently gained this weight, I am still very cute and very slim (well, okay, not very) in my mind. The mirror at the gym is the exact reason that I don’t allow myself to get photographed anymore: it tells the truth. And that truth is made worse next to the main inhabitants of the free-weights area: a) fake-tanned, skinny women with boobs too perky to be real and great muscle tone, and b) the good-looking guys checking them (and themselves) out. (Oh, and the occasional muscle-head--but they don’t intimidate me for some reason.)

But I know that in order for me to really lose this weight, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and get on in there. The first time I went, it was pretty excruciating. There was this really hot guy right next to the machine I wanted (of course) and while I boast about being married (happily), I never said I was dead, so yeah, I care. I’m…frumpy. I know this. He knows this. I avoid eye contact at all costs. I pretend that I know exactly what I am doing. I start the exercise (invariably involving some type of squat, or bent position allowing ultimate access to a view of my huge ass and the huge panty lines that frame it) and of course realize that I’m in way worse shape than I thought and there is no way that I’m going to be able to do more than a couple of these things and will grunt unattractively while doing it. I hustled my buns out of there as soon as possible without making it look like an obvious retreat.

That was the first time.

But this last time that I went, I got pissed off. This is MY gym. I pay to be here. And you know what? I could easily (very easily, let me tell you) be home sitting on my couch eating Butterfinger ice cream bars and watching The World Series Of Pop Culture on Vh1. I’d rather be doing that. But I’m not. I’m here, sweating and busting my butt to feel better about myself. And I’ll be damned if I let some societal-fed taboo about fat people and the gym strip me of the self-satisfaction I should be getting by doing something that’s good for myself!

So screw the panty lines. Screw the skinny bitches that are effortlessly talking on their cell phones while working out at full-throttle. Screw the hot guys that I notice but then chide myself for noticing by telling myself, “trust me, they’re definitely not noticing you.”

Someday, if I keep this up in spite of it all, I’m going to be a skinny bitch too.

Crisis Averted

2007-06-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

Man, I hate being a whiner.

Since some of you have expressed concern over my mental well-being after that last post (thanks, by the way), I'm happy to report that I had a heart-to-heart with J (who really is a great guy) after which he decided that not only did he and his brother not need to go out again yesterday, but that he would watch the kids while I got 5 whole hours out and about on my own. I went shopping, I got a pedicure, I listened to music not related to an animated character. It was a life-saver. AND he steam-cleaned the carpet as a surprise while I was gone.

Aw. I suck.

If you can't say anything nice...blog about it.

2007-06-22T16:47:00.000-07:00

So about a week ago I turned 31 years old. I have to say, birthdays can be seriously depressing the older you get. And I’m not just talking about the getting old thing, although 31 seems so much worse than 30—firstly because it’s just a weird odd number (I know, I’m totally prejudiced against odd numbers), and secondly because it’s kinda like I’m thoroughly entrenched in my thirties now-here-comes-forty-and-then-death kinda thing (plus, I’m still fat (<--this will be a reoccurring theme; get used to it)). No, this birthday sucked so much more because it made me feel extremely un-extraordinary. Now, I’m not expecting a freaking surprise party complete with clowns and a pony every year, but I would like to feel just a little special. Not a lot special—just a little. Here is a list of reasons why I felt so unspecial this year on my birthday:

J’s birthday is the day before mine. This reason has actually attributed to birthdays being quite unspecial for as long as we have been married. Because the partying and the going out and such is always done on his birthday leaving nothing to be done on mine. (I guess because you can’t go out two nights in a row?? Geez, we’re 85-year-olds in thirtysomething bodies.) But even if we did go out twice, and got two cakes, AND invited everyone over twice in a row it’s always very deja-vu-like-didn’t-we-just-do-this-oh-yeah-we-did. And we’ve even talked about switching it up and saving the specialness for my birthday, but that makes me feel really petty and like a crappy wife. (Plus, it sucks for family and friends who have to buy two gifts at once rather than spacing them out. Which we all know leads to cheaper gifts. Which is what really matters, of course.)

J’s family was in town and we were staying at my mom’s. My mom is not so great at celebrating birthdays. (For example, she had me buy J a birthday card for her and then proceeded to leave it on the table, unsigned, until he noticed it and had to ask if it was for him.) And J wanted to take his family down to tour Tombstone (they are so into that kind of crap). I stayed home with the babies and did…nothing. I think I took Mason to Walmart. Woo-hoo.

My dad forgot my birthday…again. Last year it was my mom who forgot, this year was dad’s turn (I think he forgot my 28th?). And my stepmom, who is usually really good at remembering these things--and usually reminds my father--forgot as well.

This all might not have been so bad have I not been feeling so invisible lately. Maybe I really am a little post-partum, I don’t know. But I’m home all day long with the kids. Mason has been a holy terror lately. You know, the one who melts down at the supermarket and causes idiots to coin phrases like “breeders.” It makes me feel like a very bad mom. J works Monday through Saturday. We never go out, and he’s never around to do things with the kids. I feel very isolated and alone. He doesn’t get depression; it’s not in his makeup. (He’s the kind of guy who thinks you should just “snap out of it.” It really pisses me off.) And to top it all off, J thought it was a really good time to invite his 17-year-old brother to spend 4 weeks with us. He tried to go for 6 weeks, and thought I was being selfish when I said NO WAY. (His words, “What’s the difference between 4 weeks and 6?” My answer: “A LOT.”)

He doesn’t get that it sucks to have guest for that long; especially when you live in a small home like we do and I can’t breastfeed when and where I want and the baby is getting up all night and I feel like I have to tiptoe around my own house. Plus, he actually said to him the other day, “Just tell Anelie what you want for dinner and she’ll make it for you.” To which I said, “No, actually, he’ll eat what I make AND HE’LL LIKE IT.” This is not a freaking bed-and-breakfast!! (Ha! I just typed “bread-and-breakfast” and it took a minute or so for me to figure out why it didn’t look right.) Also, (sheesh, sorry for the bitchfest but I’ve been holding a lot in) when J is around his 17-year-old brother, he reverts to a 17-year-old himself, and I’m totally not kidding there. Tonight they are going to a waterpark that’s open until midnight. (He’ll be too tired to help with the baby…) And he wants to go out tomorrow night with him too. Guess where I’ll be? At home.

I am torn between being really angry about it and telling him no way can they go out like that next weekend, to feeling bad that a) J is living here away from his family because of me, can’t he just enjoy the few weeks that he’s here; and, b) he works all week (including Saturdays) and his poor kid brother has to hang out with me and the kids most of the time, how much would that suck if you were 17?

But ultimately, it was just a really shitty time for him to have his brother here and J just can’t seem to understand that. I’m not kidding when I say that it’s all starting to pile up on me emotionally and something has got to change or it’s going to get really ugly.

So I’m getting proactive. I found a local daycare that I can pay daily rates to. I can just drop Mason off anytime I want, any day I want for a somewhat reasonable fee. I told J about it today and he balked at first, but I let him know that I wasn’t asking his permission on this. I’m doing what I need to do to stay sane as a wife and mother and he is damn well going to support me on this. (He graciously acquiesced.) Maybe now the house will actually get a little cleaner and I will actually be able to shop without feeling like I’m in an episode of Supermaket Sweep.

I’m also seriously going to find a way to work out on a regular basis. As long as I'm telling this sob story, I'll add that my right hip is completely out of alignment from the socket due to the pregnancy and I can't even use the elliptical without extreme pain. (I'm seeing a chiro, but I pretty much have to wait for the "relaxin" hormone to leave my body before it sets right again, blah, blah, blah...) So, despite wanting a lobotomy more than wanting to put on a swimsuit, I'm going to have to bite the bullet and swim for my workouts for a few months. I've got to do something. Not only to lose weight, but to feel slightly better about myself in general. I have realized that I am truly addicted to sugar (mix it with mindless television and it makes a great sedative) and if I don’t get a grip now, my weight it really going to spiral out of control. Aah! Deep breath. Things will be getting better.

Okay, now that I’ve had the pity party of the century, let’s focus on why my life doesn’t suck. At all.

I am happy to say that I am now firmly and totally in love with my baby. Quinn has turned into the sweetest baby in the world. He smiles. He LOVES to talk to us. You know those cute coos and gurgles happy babies make? He will do that for hours if you’ll sit there and talk back. He looooves his mama. I realize every day how blessed I am to have these two beautiful boys. Mason isn't always a holy terror. He can still be the sweet, loving child he was--when he wants to. We're working on being more consistent with our discipline and making sure he doesn't feel too insecure with the new baby. I think it will get better with time.

And even though J totally can not seem to understand where I’m coming from with this frustration and depression, he really does help out with the kids an extraordinary amount (when he’s home). I am surrounded by men (my brother, my brother-in-law…) who seriously will NOT help out or change a diaper and J puts all of them to shame. For that, I am thankful.

So for all my venting from above, I'm really not that bad off. Yes, this is a difficult time in my life. I'm sad sometimes because I really do want to treasure it and enjoy it rather than hoping for better times. I just need to take it one day at a time I guess. I know that I need to work on reaching out to others. I have always been more of a loner and not so much into the "mommy and me" type stuff, but getting out with other moms might not be such a bad idea. After all, we're all in this together, right?

Got my hairs cut...

2007-05-30T16:17:00.000-07:00

I had this amazingly annoying teacher once that used to say that when we would notice his hair cut. We'd say "You got your hair cut" and he'd so wittily reply, "Actually, I got my 'hairs' cut--all of them." And we would all secretly vow to never be as lame as any of the adults in our lives. I'm sure we succeeded.

Anyway, to help alieviate the disgust I feel everytime I get dressed (or undressed, or look in a mirror, or catch a glimpse of my post-partum shadow, or...you get the idea), I went and got my hair cut. It was very, very expensive. But it was worth every penny. (As I had to explain to my husband when he saw the bill: Great Clips will give you a hair cut; Che Expensive Salon will give you self-esteem. Self-esteem will greatly increase the likelyhood of me wanting to have sex again within the next millenia--everybody wins!!)

Here is a before from when I was a few months pregnant (the last time I allowed myself to be photographed, I believe):

And here is the after:

You know you want me. Or at least my hair. See? Happiness can be bought.

So...Yeah.

2007-05-22T13:59:00.001-07:00

I tried to stay away. Really, I did. But where else am I going to bitch and moan and not have to worry about things like "being nice" or "hurting your feelings."

This was supposed to be some big re-do for me. I worked on it. I had a big soliloquized post droning on about politics and religion and other such deep thoughts. Then I decided that I really wasn't up for all that. You may get some of that here--you may not. Frankly, I really don't need any more pressure in my life than I'm already feeling.

First off, I had my baby (yeah, I was pregnant...try and catch up here!). A beautiful boy. We named him Quinn. The labor was about one million percent better than the last time (yep, I already had a 2-year old son, Mason). Do you want the gory details? Okay, they are here if you are interested.

But having a new baby is hard. I knew it would be hard. But this is really, REALLY hard. And having a new baby and a rambunctious 2-year-old is killing me softly. Mason never cried. This kid? Cries a lot. For no apparent reason. And the no sleep thing sucks. And the house should be declared a federal disaster zone. And also? I am fat. (Okay...by my standards, which are the only ones that matter. But my boobs look fabulous, I must say.)

I think one of the hardest things for me (especially at first) was how it was affecting Mason. Here you have this kid who thinks he is the center of the universe; and more importantly, our (his parent's) universe. And he was. And then we bring in this baby who seems permanently attatched to me and who screams all the time. He goes from having structure (not to mention daily outings) in his life to none. And he kind of crumpled a bit at first. That killed me. Also, I missed him. He was my buddy, my constant companion, and all of the sudden I couldn't take care of him the way I wanted. The first few weeks, fortunately, J was home with him. But I was totally jealous that he got to spend so much time with him. I missed his hugs and cuddles and just plain talking (sort of) with him. And there was this new baby who screamed a lot and kept me up all night and made my nipples (yeah, I said it) really, really HURT.

The truth is, for those first few days, I loved Quinn because he was mine, but honestly, I didn't really like him all that much.

Fortunately, it is getting better. Slowly. Little by little. I even took a shower today. Quinn slept 5 hours in a row last night. Mason has stopped crumpling. He's decided that the answer is to be twice as loud as the baby at all times, but he is adjusting.

I'm not going to pretend that things are perfect (as I'm sure you'll hear more about here), but I am able to remind myself when things are bad, that they will get better.

Plus, my kid really is beautiful.